


Why Don't You Try It Just Once, For Me?

by HigherMagic



Series: Challenges of the Month [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bottom Hannibal Lecter, Creampie, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, M/M, Murder Husbands, Needles, Office Sex, Recreational Drug Use, Rimming, Top Will Graham, Will Graham Knows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 18:07:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21882712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HigherMagic/pseuds/HigherMagic
Summary: A series of experiments and forays into kink for the murder husbands, in the spirit of kinktober/kinkmas 2019.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: Challenges of the Month [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1156559
Comments: 14
Kudos: 168
Collections: Wendigo & Stag





	1. Insulin

**Author's Note:**

> I got it in my head to do kinksmas/kinktober this year......on the 17th of December. So obviously unless some drastic shit happens with my brain I'm not going to catch up, so! Though I do have a list of prompts/ideas to do, this will mostly just be some palate cleanser ficlets when I get in a mood. 
> 
> This does take place in the same 'verse as last year's kinktober and kinksmas, and so may reference things that happened in those fics, such as Will's scars or their wedding, etc. I'll try to keep it as vague as possible; for right now all you need to know is they're happily married murder husbands, Will is totally in the know, everything's cool :D
> 
> Chapter specific notes: I am an insulin-dependent diabetic and while I have never deliberately given myself hypoglycemia (also known as low blood sugar), it happens pretty often. I have based this off my experience (minus the blowjob) and am in no way saying this is what it feels like for everyone. Inducing a hypo like this is pretty damn dangerous and people have died from it so like, don't try this at home.

Will needs to watch him do it. Ten units – cc's? Milliliters? He's already forgotten what measurement Hannibal told him they use for insulin. It's a soft creamy color, like milk mixed with water at a ratio of one to twenty. It sits in a little vial, refrigerated, of course, on the top shelf of Hannibal's minifridge in his office. Will has no idea what it's there for, which means it's there for anything Hannibal feels like.

"Hypoglycemia can manifest in many different ways," Hannibal murmurs, drawing him to the present as Will forces himself to drag his eyes away from the sight of the needle plunging through the membrane keeping the vial sealed, and meets the eyes of his monster. They seem redder come winter, sunlight curled up in the cloak of extended nights and long stretches of ice and frost upon the ground.

Hannibal finishes filling the syringe to the ten marker, carefully removes the needle from the vial and caps the tip, setting it to one side. He returns the vial to the fridge, and then comes back to Will. He kneels between Will's spread legs, the hand bearing his wedding ring splaying out on Will's knee. It is only then that Will realizes he'd been bouncing it up and down, nervous.

He wets his lips and meets Hannibal's eyes. Hannibal smiles at him, gentle and serene; "I have a tube of glucogel, and juices, as well as glucose tablets close to hand, Will," he says, just as he said when Will first asked him about it. Just as he showed Will when Will came into his office today. "This ends when you want it to."

"Or when I pass out," Will replies. "Right?"

"Right," Hannibal confirms. His smile widens, and he takes one of Will's hands from where it is wide-splayed and tense on the armrest, lifts Will's fingers to his mouth, kisses and nuzzles the calluses on his palm until Will's fingers curl, unable to help himself.

"How, ah." Will clears his throat, fingers of his free hand twitching towards the syringe. He wonders, briefly, how pissed Hannibal would be if he knocked it to the ground, or tried to break it. He probably wouldn't be mad at all. But he'd insist on talking about Will's 'why's and 'wherefore's, and Will is in no mood. "How fast does it happen?"

"You will begin feeling the initial symptoms within five to ten minutes," Hannibal replies. "The total effects last for almost an hour, but that is why I'm here."

"And ten will…? Ten is safe, right?"

Hannibal's head tilts. He kisses Will's hand again, drags his fingers gently up to cradle Will's pulse, and lifts higher on his knees, taking Will's chin in his free hand so he can't look away. He bites his lower lip, slouches down in the chair, grips Hannibal with his knees.

Hannibal's eyes are dark, and though he had behaved this entire evening with the normal calm, mild-mannered lightness he usually has, now he is almost uncharacteristically somber, in a way he seldom needs to be with Will.

His thumb touches Will's lower lip, and he says, quiet and even; "I'm not going to let anything happen to you, darling."

And Will believes him. He swallows, and nods, and Hannibal smiles, the Cheshire cat returning from the shadow of its tree, and kisses his forehead. He crouches back and Will hikes up the side of his shirt, baring his flank and the small amount comfortable padding above his waistband that he's gained from being so well-fed at Hannibal's table.

Hannibal smiles, and uncaps the syringe, leans in and kisses Will's exposed skin. Will rolls his eyes, but doesn't say anything; sucks in a breath and goes still as Hannibal pinches a little of the excess fat and pierces him with the needle. A tiny bite of pain, and a quick plunge, and then it's over. Hannibal pulls the needle back, and there's a small bead of insulin bubbled up from the wound, that Hannibal wipes away with his thumb, lifting to his mouth to taste.

Will lets out a worried sound. "Should you be eating that?"

"Novolog doesn't affect humans when ingested," Hannibal says with a smile. "And I've always been curious about the taste."

He stands, and Will lets his shirt fall, settling in place on the chair. "And?"

"As I expected," Hannibal replies mildly, tossing the syringe in a medical waste bin next to the fridge. "Somewhat plastic, a little tart; not unlike the pancreas itself. Though if I could make a more common comparison it is like the similarities between coffee and chocolate."

Will hums, tilting his head back, letting his eyes droop to half-mast. He drums his fingers on the sides of the armrests, impatient, now that he knows it's coming. It's easier to look forward to something inevitable when it's already begun.

Hannibal notices. He smiles, wide, showing his teeth. "Increasing your heart rate will expedite the effects," he says, voice a low purr. "If you're feeling…eager."

Will swallows. He's not sure it's eagerness, but he doesn't like how far away Hannibal is from him. He reaches out, like a child, and sighs in relief when Hannibal comes to him, kneels down and takes his hand. Two of his fingers settle over the pulse in Will's wrist, and that settles him further; Hannibal is here, and Hannibal is going to make sure nothing happens to him.

Hannibal's smile is wide and proud, and he kisses Will's palm, before he pushes Will's thighs as far apart as he can get them in the chair, leans down and nuzzles the bulge of Will's cock in his slacks. Will sucks in a breath, heart rate ticking up as he watches Hannibal's jaws part, mouthing wet and warm along the seam of his slacks, his exhale burning hot and sinking through his clothes to his sensitive flesh.

His fingers flex, and he tilts his head back with a sigh, pressing his lips together and breathing in deeply as Hannibal undoes his slacks, helping him lift his hips so he can work them down to his thighs. He kisses Will's thickening erection through his underwear, lets out a soft, eager growl that never fails to make Will shiver. His fingers are warm, pushing through the hole at the front to work his cock out, and Will gasps, stomach tensing as Hannibal swallows the head of him down, cheeks hollowing and tongue working hard and wet below the head as Will fills in his mouth.

He blinks up at the ceiling, content to float for a while and let Hannibal suck him to full hardness, fissures of pleasure running up his spine as he waits for the insulin to take effect.

He feels it in his hands, first. A tremor he cannot blame on Hannibal's mouth; an unsteadiness that feels like it comes from his wrists, and his fingers twitch in ricochet. His head feels heavy and thick, like foam used for flower arrangements sits in every free space of his skull. His breathing goes labored, and slow, and suddenly his heart feels like it's in his throat, pumping wildly to try and keep his body alert and active. There's a feeling in his stomach that feels almost like narcotics, makes him feel like a hapless, formless mass of seaweed steadily rolling in a deep undertow.

He had read up on the physical symptoms of hypoglycemia. He knows to expect the fogginess, the odd weightlessness that seems to affect every part of his body except his brain, the fever sweat, the tremors. What he didn't expect, what no article told him about, is the fear.

It's a primal, basic urge. A certainty, a fierce hunger, that tells him he has to find food and eat as much as he can before he passes out. His heart thumps heavily behind his ribs, his breathing ragged, made worse as Hannibal takes him deeper. Despite it all, Will's erection doesn't flag for a second. The hunger in his belly, the emptiness, combines with the arousal, makes his hips judder and his fingers flex.

It's almost like being drunk, if drunkenness came with the certainty of death. He's sweating, every inch of him trembling. _Be calm_ , his brain whispers to him, but his heart is pounding like he's being hunted, chased and running for his life. He whimpers, paws heavy and uncoordinated at Hannibal's head, fingers twitching and trying to curl in his hair.

His lungs tremble around a sob. He's sinking, sinking down a steady, wet slope into darkness. He doesn't want to close his eyes – he has to, though. He has to save his strength and prepare for a surge of activity that will let him find food. If he just waits, and tries to relax, he'll be able to make it to something to eat.

He lifts his head, sees Hannibal in double vision. He's shimmering in and out of focus, happy to continue sucking Will's cock, and Will lets out another hoarse, frantic sound, adrenaline flooding him as he works his hips up, sinking deeper into his husband's mouth. He parts his lips, tries to speak, tries to warn him, but all that comes out is another weak noise.

Everything feels so sensitive, so raw and primally alive. This is what death feels like, he's sure of it. "Hannibal," he breathes, lightheaded and groaning as Hannibal pulls off him, wrapping his fingers around Will's cock and continuing to stroke as he meets his eyes.

"How does it feel, Will?" he murmurs. Will can barely hear him over the rush of blood in his ears. He grits his teeth, wincing, shakes his head and lets it fall back against the chair again, grunting softly, thighs tense and shaking. It feels good. It feels weird, and wrong, and like he's alive and dying all at once. His mouth is wet, his fingers trembling so hard he no longer has any control over them.

He's so sensitive, all it takes is one expert twist of Hannibal's hand, thumb running through his leaking slit, for his body to seize up, a sharp cry punched from him as he comes over his belly and Hannibal's hand. Hannibal smiles, and releases him immediately, standing and cupping Will's face with his dirty hand, his free one reaching into his pocket and pulling out a tube of wide, round tablets.

"Here," he says, opening it and feeding Will one. Will takes it, crushing it between his teeth. It tastes of mixed berries, powdery and overly sweet. But it dries his mouth out and he swallows, panting heavily. The fear hasn't left him; his orgasm makes him weak, unable to do more than breathe and chew as Hannibal feeds him another. "That's it, darling. Good boy. Keep eating."

Will chews and swallows another tablet, gasping as it runs down his throat like a too-large bite of something heavy as stone. He blinks up, panting. Hannibal smiles, and kisses his forehead, and Will feels safe enough to close his eyes.

"Eat another," Hannibal coaxes him, and feeds Will one more, before he sets the tube down. He pulls Will into his arms, half out of the chair, lets Will rest against him, nuzzling frantically, desperate to absorb Hannibal's heat and strength. His heart won't calm for a moment, he can't think. The foam in his head isn't receding.

"Hannibal," he whispers, soft with panic.

"Hush, Will. It's working, I promise." He pets through Will's sweaty hair, shushing him again. After a moment, Will's belly feels suddenly full, and the cavernous emptiness rushes up his back like a tidal wave and makes his lungs expand rapidly. His heart, no longer squeezed so tightly by his own ribs, begins to calm, leaving him weak and breathless. He sags against Hannibal and Hannibal kneels again, letting Will prop himself up against him, still petting his hair. Hannibal kisses his cheek, his hair, his racing pulse as it begins to slow.

"There we go," Hannibal purrs, as Will heaves in a large breath. His fingers aren't shaking as badly anymore. He's aware of the tackiness of his own come and the cool air on his softening cock. He winces, clearing his throat, turns his head to nuzzle Hannibal's shoulder as he feels the heaviness in his head gradually recede.

When it feels like he can think again, he pulls back, collapsing against the chair. He flexes his fingers, stretching and splaying them out wide. Takes note of his aching lungs, his heart that feels bruised from fighting so hard to free itself from his ribcage. He feels delirious, euphoric almost, the adrenaline making him sleepy and dumb.

"That was…." He wets his lips, searching for the right word. "Interesting."

Hannibal laughs, and kisses him in answer. The scent of his own come on Hannibal's hand is familiar and welcome, and he turns his head when the kiss ends, absently licking his come from Hannibal's palm, still hungry.

"Let me get you some juice," Hannibal suggests, and Will nods. Hannibal tucks him back in and straightens his clothes as much as he's able for Will to look somewhat decent. He stands, his smile wide and proud, and goes to fetch Will something sugary to drink, that will bring him fully back to the land of the living.


	2. High Sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never had mushrooms but this is based on my experience with weed so /shrug emoji

Hannibal is so _warm._ His shoulders, broad, flex finely under Will's touch. He trails his fingers down, breathing heavily, nose in Hannibal's hair as he pets over the powerful muscles in his back, measures the length and dips around his spine, teases feather-light at the jut of his hipbone and cups the bulb of it, sighing softly.

Hannibal is quiet and still, in front of him, eyes at half-mast and painted gold by the street light coming in from the outside, just at a perfect angle to let Will see, but not so close and glaring that it's a distraction.

He breathes out again, nuzzling Hannibal's soft hair, lipping gently at the ends of it where it curls around his ear. Hannibal lets out a quiet huff of amusement, but otherwise doesn't move except to tilt his head, exposing more of his neck. Will shivers, always so enthralled with the idea that this man, this monster, bares himself so eagerly to Will's own savage teeth. His fingers curl, a surge of possessiveness making him slide his hand to Hannibal's belly, trailing light fingertips over the trail of hair that leads down.

He's so warm, always smells fantastic, makes Will ache; a deep, throbbing desire that sits at the base of his spine and snarls in his stomach. He parts his lips and licks over Hannibal's nape, he wants to get closer. Wants to be inside him, curled up in his chest, cradled in Hannibal's lungs and hands and wants to use his heart for a pillow. His thighs for warmth, a blanket he can't fight his way free of.

He presses closer, growling when Hannibal slides a leg forward, lets him rut and press himself as tight to his husband's back as he wants. His senses always feel heightened when Hannibal gives him mushrooms, the air shimmering with a pretty light, but God, Hannibal himself, so warm and soft and perfect.

He nuzzles the wet skin over Hannibal's pulse, wraps his other arm tight around his mate, pulls him closer. Hannibal's breath hitches when Will brushes his fingers over one of his nipples, pushes the curling chest hair aside so he can get at the sensitive nub. It hardens for his touch and Will grinds his chest against Hannibal's back in answer, desperate to rut and coat his monster in his own scent.

"I love you so much," he breathes, and Hannibal shivers, soft lips parting. Will wants to taste him, but can't make himself move from his handholds, so he lowers his mouth and sucks a pink, blushing mark to Hannibal's neck. Every part of him is alive and hard and hot, so unrepentantly human and monstrous all at once.

Will bites gently at his earlobe, tugs on his nipple, relishes how Hannibal's stomach tenses and he can feel the soft nudge of Hannibal's hard cock against his hand, where it sits so low. It's gotten to the point, Hannibal knowing just how ravenous and gluttonous Will is when he's high, that just preparing the tea makes his eyes darken and his cheeks go pink.

Hannibal's heart kicks against his palm and Will smiles, licks another long line up the side of Hannibal's neck, eager for more of him. He wants to bite, to sink his teeth into something soft and willing and feel it burst and open for him. He's so hard he's leaking, rutting his cock lazily against the back of Hannibal's thigh.

He pushes himself upright, forgoing his handholds, and smiles when Hannibal lets out a quiet sound of protest. He rolls him to his back and leans down, rubbing his cheek animal-like against the pelt of hair spread across his chest. Breathes him in, as one of Hannibal's hands goes to his hair, petting it from his face.

It feels so good when Hannibal pets him. Will arches like a cat, seeking more of it, parts his lips and sucks Hannibal's nipple into his mouth, tongue curling around the hard little bud as he digs a furrow between his monster's thighs. His hands spread out, wide and clawed, gripping Hannibal's tender flanks and keeping him still as Hannibal gasps, tilting his head back, content to just lay back and let Will touch and kiss and caress as much as he wants.

Will rises, back bowing, lets out a rough, sated snarl. "You're still wet, baby," he whispers. He can feel it, feel his own come leaking out of his mate. It's satisfying in a way Will never got to feel with previous partners, because they were too anonymous to risk unprotected sex. Hannibal shivers, parts his legs further, blinks up at Will, hazy and black-eyed, as Will kisses his way down Hannibal's belly, reaches his hard, reddened cock, licks flat and rough over it and then moves down, further, to get at his prize.

Hannibal groans, letting out a breathless moan of Will's name as Will licks over his rim, feels the flutter of sensitive, pink skin against his tongue. He tilts his head, pushing in with it, moaning at how wet and eager Hannibal is, how easily he parts for Will. Will's nails drag down his chest, back up, a repeated motion that raises red lines on his husband's golden skin.

The taste of himself combined with Hannibal makes him see red. He pushes in with his tongue, seeking more of it, curls his tongue and teases Hannibal with kittenish licks until Hannibal's thighs tremble around him. He hears Hannibal spit on his hand, hears the slick slide of his cock through his own fist as he touches himself, breathing grown heavy and rough as Will tastes him.

He smiles, replacing his tongue with his fingers, shoves them deep through the tight, wet clench of Hannibal's muscles and curls them up to where he's sensitive, and goes so sweet and lax when Will touches his prostate.

He rears up, cups Hannibal face and kisses him, his mouth so sensitive, sore, his cock aching as he uses the crease of Hannibal's thigh to get friction where he wants it most. Hannibal clutches at him with his free hand, arches when Will brushes his thumb over Hannibal's wet nipple, gasps as Will pets around his prostate in a slow, torturous grind.

"Come on, baby," he purrs, smiling wide, resting their foreheads together. Hannibal wets his lips, breathing hard, his eyes utterly black in the low light. His ass clenches around Will's fingers, the precursor to his orgasm as known to Will now as his own hand. The corners of his eyes tighten, his upper lip twitches. "That's it. Look so fuckin' pretty when you come, I wanna see it."

Hannibal's lashes flutter, dip low. His jaw clenches, and he hauls Will up into a kiss as he starts to bear down. Will pulls his fingers out immediately, replacing them with his cock so he can feel how Hannibal tightens and seizes beneath him. The clench of his muscles is divine, absolutely perfect, and Will snarls and smears his hand through the mess on Hannibal's stomach, feeds it between his parted, gasping lips and kisses the taste away.

He doesn't last long, rarely does when he's high. He claws at Hannibal's hips and shoulders, wherever he can reach, sinks his teeth into Hannibal's neck and fucks in deep, coming with a heavy, sated snarl and emptying himself inside of Hannibal. He's so wet, so fucking sweet and tight and _warm_.

He doesn't want to pull out, but the aftershocks of Hannibal's spasming body and his own softening cock force him to. He collapses over Hannibal, breathing hard, panting as Hannibal pets through his hair and down his back, humming in contentment when Will licks and sucks dark pink marks to his exposed skin.

He takes Hannibal's hands, pets down his arms, admiring the sheen of sweat on his skin and delighted by the slickness on his stomach. He ruts against it, straddling one of Hannibal's thighs, breathes out and smothers him, clingy without embarrassment.

Hannibal smiles, and kisses his hair. In answer, Will groans, ruts their sensitive, softening cocks together, lets out a small, frustrated huff. "I don't want to stop," he murmurs, petulant and soft. Hannibal laughs, and cups Will face so they can kiss.

"Then don't," he replies, unrepentantly pleased at Will's eagerness. Will smiles at him, nudges their foreheads, noses, mouths together. Kisses his jaw and his neck where he can taste his heart calming. He pets over Hannibal's chest and follows it with his mouth, nuzzling, kissing, biting wherever it pleases him.

"You're going to be sore in the morning," he mutters, and isn't sure if it's meant to be a promise or apology. He wants to bite, to touch, to claw. To mark every inch of the man he loves and make it so he's dripping wet for days after.

Hannibal laughs, in reply. That concept seems to delight him more than ever. "I certainly hope so."

Will grins, wide and dazed, and meets him for another kiss.


End file.
